The Librarian Immortal
by jozivabellepattersonfan
Summary: Dr. Henry Morgan receives a white envelope. A few months later, so does Detective Jo Martinez.
1. The Librarian

Henry Morgan was old. Two-hundred and thirty-five years old, to be exact. In those two-hundred and thirty-five years, he had seen and heard almost everything under the sun. He understood the mysteries of the body and mind, simply because there was very little he had not experienced. People, places, events – they all started to blend together after awhile. He could remember specifics of the past if he tried, but he was more interested in the present and the future.

Only two days stood out to him.

The first was the day he failed to die.

 _The ship was violently rocking to and fro – there was a storm brewing, a bad one. If he wanted to incite a slave rebellion, this was not the best time. The Negros were weak and malnourished; they could easily be blown overboard in the gale-force winds before they had a chance to fight. But the ship would be reaching land soon, and the opportunity would be lost if he did not act now._

 _Just before he opened the door to the slave quarters, the captain hailed him from behind. "Dr. Morgan! A word." Henry clasped his hands behind his back, sliding the key he'd been about to use into his sleeve. "Something went missing," the captain continued. "A key. Do you know anything about that?"_

 _He drew himself up. "Of course not," he replied. "Are you accusing me?"_

 _The captain took a step forward. "You may be the owner's son," he informed Henry softly. "But out here, I'm judge and jury. Make one wrong move..."_

 _"And what?" Henry asked._

 _"Sir!" A young sailor approached them. "We need the doctor. There's a slave with fever."_

 _The captain cursed. "Damn it."_

 _"Well, allow me to see him," Henry offered. "I can help." As he followed the young sailor, the captain called after him,_

 _"Remember what I said, Doctor."_

 _The slave was docile and obedient. Henry hated it. A people who had been so independent and free had been subjugated to this! But, he reminded himself, he couldn't change the past – only the future. He sat down and examined his patient, first checking his temperature, then listening to his heartbeat, using his pocket watch as a guide. "It's just a fever," he told the captain as he stood. "This man will be fine."_

 _"He's not a man," the captain said briskly. "He's property." He gestured to the sailors he'd brought with him. "He has cholera. Throw him overboard." They moved to obey, but Henry stood up, blocking their path with his outstretched arms._

 _"I can assure you, he is not infected!" he shouted._

 _The captain had turned to leave; now he turned back and pulled out his flintlock. "You allow my men to remove him," he ordered, pointing the gun at Henry's chest. "Or I shall."_

 _Henry glanced back at the slave, whose face was impassive, resigned._

 _"Step aside, Dr. Morgan, or I will shoot you!"_

 _Henry shook his head. "I cannot let you do this," he told the captain._

 _"So be it!" The captain raised the pistol and fired at Henry's chest. He must have blacked out; he woke in the raging ocean. Helplessly, he sank. His life flashed before his eyes._

 _And suddenly he was at the surface of the water again, gasping for breath. What had happened? How was he alive? He grabbed for a board, but it was swept away on a wave. Confused, he felt his chest, sure that he had just been shot._

 _His hands registered a strangely, completely healed wound before he drowned again._

It was the first of many deaths. He considered it a curse, not a blessing. He did not enjoy watching his friends and family die while he remained thirty-five. He threw himself into his work, first as a physician, then as a medical examiner. He refused to allow himself to become close to anyone.

Well, almost anyone. He had married for the second time; he met his wife, Abigail, during World War II. They adopted an orphan from the concentration camps, and Abe was still with him. Abigail was long gone. Other than those two, Henry did not have meaningful interaction with people for two-thirds of a century. He spent his time trying to find a way to end his curse.

Then came the second day that stood out to him in two-hundred and thirty-five years.

It was the day a white envelope arrived in the mail.

 _More accurately, the white envelope appeared on his desk at the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner. He raised an eyebrow at it, then called in his young assistant, Lucas Wahl. "Lucas," he began, holding up the envelope. "How did this get here?"_

 _"Uh, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say, the mail?"_

 _"It has no postage on it," Henry pointed out. Lucas only shrugged. With a sigh, Henry sent Lucas on his way and opened the envelope. If he had not been two-hundred and thirty-five years old, he might have been more startled when glowing words appeared and seemed to reverberate inside his head._

 _"You have been invited to interview for a prestigious position with the Metropolitan Public Library."_

 _The word "Library" struck something in his memory. He vaguely recalled hearing the term several times, but each time, he had assumed he heard incorrectly. After all, why would a Librarian be retrieving items from a mobile army hospital during a world war, or mingling at a party for young artists during the Roaring Twenties, or providing valuable if ultimately useless clues during the Jack the Ripper case?_

 _His natural curiosity wouldn't allow him to leave the letter unanswered. He showed up at the Metropolitan Public Library the next day and was surprised to find a line of hundreds of men and women leading up a spiral staircase. He signed the ledger and waited. If nothing else, he had time to spare._

 _When his name was finally called, he entered a room that was beautiful even by his high standards. It had vaulted ceilings, marble columns, tall windows, a polished wooden floor... He was almost afraid to walk across it, but then he remembered that this was an interview, and he needed to appear confident. So he stepped towards the imposing woman sitting at the shining desk, figuring that he at least couldn't die permanently from her glares. He took a seat._

 _She looked up from her notebook, flipped straight blonde hair out of her eyes, and spoke. "What makes you think you could be the Librarian?"_

 _For the first time in years, Henry was speechless._

 _He didn't even know what a Librarian was. He knew what a librarian was, but this woman was clearly talking about something different, Librarian with a capital L. He could hear it in her tone. If he didn't know what a Librarian was, how could he adequately explain why he was right for the position?_

 _"I am knowledgeable about many things," he said at last._

 _"Everyone in that line is 'knowledgeable about many things,'" the woman scoffed. "What makes you think you could be the Librarian?"_

 _He paused. "I have more than knowledge. I have experience – years of it."_

 _She sighed and consulted her notebook. "Doctor Henry Morgan, stop wasting my time. Tell me something you have experienced that nobody else who has walked in here has."_

 _He got to his feet and began to pace around the room. Without looking at the woman, he spouted out random tidbits of his life. "I rescued and raised a young orphan from Germany. I took a bullet to protect a man I didn't know. I saved the life of a king on the Orient Express." He would have gone on – God knows he could have – but an echoing voice interrupted._

 _"What's more important than experience?"_

 _He didn't question the origin of the voice, accepting it as one of the eccentricities of this Library. He thought long and hard about the question before quoting his dear Abigail. "Everything I've done, everything I've learned, is for something bigger." Another pause. "I have lived an... interesting life, and I am still discovering what that something is."_

 _Henry's heart sank when the woman picked up the phone and said, "The interviews are over. Send everyone home." He turned to leave, trying to decide what the disappointment he was feeling meant, when the woman called after him. "Not you."_

 _He raised his eyebrows at her. "There will be a six-month trial period," she informed him as she stood. She was a small woman, perhaps five foot two, but clearly full of fire. "If you don't screw up, then you will officially be the Librarian." And at last, there was a small smile upon her solemn face._

 _The smile vanished almost as soon as it appeared. "Until then, if you are one minute late, I will dock your pay. If you break anything, I will dock your pay. Got it?"_

 _Henry nodded. "If I may..." When the woman inclined her head, he went on, "What is a Librarian?"_

 _"You have learned and done much in your two-hundred and thirty-five years, Dr. Morgan," the echoing voice chimed in. Henry jumped a little – just a little, a testament to his immortality – when an older man appeared out of nowhere. "You are about to begin a, a wondrous adventure, from which even you will never be the same." The man spread his arms wide. "Welcome to the Library."_

Barely two months had passed since his introduction to the Library, and already, he could tell that Judson was right: he would never be the same. Before the Library, every day had felt similar. Years had passed in a blur. The OCME had been interesting, to be sure, but homicides could only keep his interest for so long. The Library, on the other hand, could conceivably keep his interest forever.

He had always held the assumption that there must be other magic than the kind that kept him alive – although he preferred to call it "science." Regardless, he was now aware that magic of _all_ kinds was real, and it was everywhere he looked. He would be content to observe and study it for the rest of his long life. The key to ending his immortality could be contained within the supernatural walls of the Library.

Some of his missions reminded him of his past, bringing up memories that he would have happily kept locked away. One particular mission – defeating a shapeshifter at a psychiatric hospital – sparked a panic attack. He was mortified; he had never had a panic attack, not in over two centuries.

"It's to be expected," Judson said when he expressed his concern to him. "You have lived a long life, Henry. It was bound to begin to affect you sooner or later."

"It has affected me," Henry replied harshly. "You know about Abigail, don't you? When she left, I was devastated, stressed, but not panicked."

Judson put a hand on his arm. "Don't worry," he assured the immortal. "The Library knows what you need. It won't leave you without support." The older man refused to elaborate.

Three weeks after their conversation, a courageous woman showed up at the Library and presented Charlene with a white envelope. Henry would later add that day to the list of those that stood out in his two-hundred and thirty-five years.

* * *

Hello, all! I've never attempted a crossover before, and I know this one's kind of an obscure connection, but no one's tried it before (that I know of) and I think it kind of fits. I'm planning on having some of the regular characters from Forever and from the Librarians pop up here and there. Some of the details have been changed slightly, but I kept most of the backstories the same. Let me know what you think! I'm always up for constructive criticism!


	2. The Guardian

Jo Martinez felt old. She knew, logically, that she was only thirty-six, but the last twelve months had aged her at least that many years.

 _They had fought. It was a terrible fight. Jo couldn't even remember what it was about, now, but at the time, it had seemed so important. Sean went to bed, and she went for a walk around the block. She could tell Sean wasn't asleep when she crawled under the covers several hours later. He didn't say a word, and neither did she._

 _The next morning, she left early for the precinct. There was no way she was going to apologize first. Sean left for his business trip to Washington, D.C. He didn't call to say that he arrived safely, as he normally would have; she didn't call to check on him, as she usually did._

 _Twenty-four hours later, she got a very different call._

 _"Martinez."_

 _"Mrs. Martinez? This is Detective Johnson with the D.C. Police Department."_

 _She knew that tone of voice. She used it often herself. Her knees buckled. She grabbed the edge of her desk and held on for dear life. Her partner looked up at her, mouthing, "What's up?"_

 _"Mrs. Martinez, are you there?"_

 _"Yes – yes, I'm here."_

 _"I'm so sorry to tell you this, Mrs. Martinez, but your husband passed away this morning."_

 _The desk was no longer enough to keep her up. She fell to the floor, the phone dropping from her trembling hands. Hurriedly she grabbed it and held it to her ear. "I – no, there must be some mistake," she blustered. "Sean was healthy, he was..."_

 _Jo could picture the expression on the detective's face. He would be sad, but somewhat stoic. These calls were routine for him, just as they were routine for her. "Our medical examiner believes he had a heart attack while running on the hotel treadmill."_

 _She listened to the details – where the medical examiner's office was located, when she would be able to come and identify the body, what her options were for transporting Sean's remains across state lines – but when she hung up, she had heard none of it._

 _Her partner, Detective Hanson, was kneeling down beside her, holding her as she cried into his shoulder. Everyone in the bull pen was gathered around her desk, offering solace with their presence. "He can't be gone," she managed to say between sobs. "He can't be gone..."_

For the next year, Jo was a shadow of her former self. She barely got through the funeral; Sean's mother did most of the arrangements for her. After the funeral, she buried herself in her work. She arrived early at the precinct every morning. It wasn't hard – she wasn't sleeping anyway. She often had take-out at her desk for dinner and stayed as late as she could. If someone needed a weekend off, she was the first to volunteer.

Detective Hanson was worried about her, she could tell, but she wasn't about to talk about her problems with him. If she did, he might insist that she take some time off to recuperate. That was the last thing she needed. Keeping busy helped. Keeping busy ensured that she never had time to think about him.

The sleep deprivation was getting to her, though. People at work were starting to notice the bags under her eyes. She was missing the obvious in their homicide investigations, leaving Hanson to do the work of one-and-a-half detectives. The last straw was her Lieutenant calling her into her office.

"Take a seat," Lieutenant Reece said.

Jo didn't sit. "What is this about, Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant Reece raised her eyebrows. "Straight to the point, then. All right. I'm concerned about you, Detective."

"And why is that?"

"You've just lost your husband." Jo flinched, but didn't look away. She couldn't show weakness. "You're grieving," the older woman went on. "I understand that. If you need to take some time to get yourself together, I understand."

"I don't need time," Jo replied flatly.

Lieutenant Reece braced her hands on her desk and looked Jo in the eyes. "Detective, your investigative skills are just not there right now. Either you take some vacation days, or I will put you on administrative leave."

"I'm fine, Lieu!" she snapped. "Or I would be fine, without people asking me every day if I'm okay, and coddling me, and trying to keep me from doing my job. I'd be fine if they would just leave me alone!"

There was a long silence. Lieutenant Reece took a deep breath. "Will you please sit down, Jo?"

Jo hesitated, then sat. Lieutenant Reece did the same.

"Please understand, I know how good of a detective you are. But I also know that losing someone close to you like this can push a person over the edge. You're on the brink, Jo. I don't want to see you go any farther." The lieutenant held out a tissue. Jo stared at it for a moment before realizing she was crying.

Angrily she took it and wiped away her tears. "What am I supposed to do with vacation days, Lieu?" she asked. "Go home and wallow? Sit in the house that Sean and I bought together?"

"I don't know what it is you need. There are a lot of places you can look at this stage. Find a counselor. Go to church. Join a support group. Just do something, Jo. The longer you stay at this stage, the worse it will be for you. You have to move on."

Jo paused. She wanted to protest, but she knew her lieutenant well enough to know that she would not back down now. "Fine," she agreed. "But just for a week. Next Monday, I'll be back."

"That's fine with me." Jo stood up to leave, then turned as Lieutenant Reece called after her, "Just make sure you do something, okay, Detective?"

"Yes, Lieutenant."

She planned to do no such thing. Or rather, she had no plan, other than to go home and curl up with Sean's pillow and drink a lot of wine. She would just make sure that she didn't drink on Sunday night, so she would appear refreshed on Monday morning when she reported back to Lieutenant Reece.

When she arrived at home, she found a white envelope waiting on the front stoop. She picked it up. It had no postage, just her name.

"Probably another sympathy card from a neighbor," Jo muttered. She unlocked the front door and entered her house, tossing the envelope on the coffee table in the living room.

Three hours and one glass of wine later, she decided to open it. Nothing could make her feel worse, after all. When the words appeared to glow on the card, she chalked it up to her somewhat inebriated state.

"You have been invited to interview for a prestigious position with the Metropolitan Public Library."

Jo rolled her eyes. Someone must have submitted a resume on her behalf. Maybe they thought a change of scenery would cheer her up, or something.

On the other hand, they could be right.

Telling herself that she had time off anyway, Jo made herself presentable the next morning and went to the Metropolitan Public Library. It was a gorgeous old building. She remembered Sean mentioning that he used to come here to study for his undergraduate degree...

She stopped on the threshold of the Library. "Forget Sean," she ordered herself. "Don't even think his name." With a shake of her head, she pushed open the door and entered the Library. The front desk was busy, but when Jo showed the white envelope to the receptionist, she seemed to forget everyone else.

"You got the white envelope," she exclaimed, beaming.

No one had looked at Jo like that in a year. There was no pity in the receptionist's expression or voice. "I'm Detective Jo Martinez," she said. "I found it on my doorstep..."

The woman pulled out a clipboard and pen and came out from behind the desk. She barely came up to Jo's shoulder, but she could tell she wouldn't want to go against her in a fight. Something told Jo she could take her. "Detective, you said? Detective for what?"

"The NYPD, ma'am. Homicide unit."

"Call me Charlene," the woman said, waving a hand. "Oh, this is wonderful. You're the new Guardian."

"What's a Guardian?"

Charlene smiled at Jo, her eyes crinkling. "What's a Guardian. Adorable." Then she sighed dramatically. "Oh, Henry's going to make a fuss. He doesn't think he needs a Guardian. But even he can't argue with a white envelope."

"Henry?"

Charlene smiled at her. "Henry is the Librarian."

"Librarian?" Jo gestured to the large room they were in. "Surely there's more than one librarian for this big of a library."

"Come with me," Charlene instructed, beckoning to her. As they walked towards a bookshelf on the far wall, the receptionist explained, "The Metropolitan Public Library is just the entrance to the real Library, downstairs. Here." She pulled on a book, and the whole shelf swung forward to reveal a hidden elevator. Jo followed her inside.

Charlene pressed a button, and the elevator started to go down. As it did, she started to mark items on her clipboard. "Okay, Jo Martinez, got that."

Meanwhile, Jo stared at the elevator floor numbers. They were getting higher... much higher. "We're going down," she commented. "Very far down!"

Charlene glanced up. "Oh, those. It's really just a metaphor, not real numbers. If you'd sign here, here, and here..." Jo signed without even looking at the papers. "Every Librarian has a Guardian," the receptionist continued as the numbers kept going up. They were in the hundreds now. "Somebody who's trained in combat, tactics, survival, sort of the brawn to the Librarian's brain." She paused, then corrected herself. "No, no, much more than that. Sort of the common sense to their head in the clouds."

That was enough to jolt Jo from her confused reverie. She pointed to the ceiling. "I didn't see a lot of threatening situations in the bookshelves upstairs."

"As I said, that's just the entrance to the real Library below. This is where we keep all the artifacts and magic too dangerous to be left out in the world."

Jo was beginning to suspect that this was a poor excuse for a joke. She turned to look at Charlene just as the elevator stopped. "There's no such thing as–"

The doors opened, and her last word caught in her throat.

In front of Jo was an impossibly large maze of a room. Bookshelves extended for what appeared to be miles in every direction. There were display cases along the center aisle. If it hadn't been impossible, she would have suspected that they held objects like the Ark of the Covenant and the sword Excalibur – but that _was_ impossible.

"As, as magic," she finished with a gasp.

Charlene was unconcerned. "The Library contains ancient knowledge and ensures that magic, _real_ magic, doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

Jo stared out at the maze. She was trained to trust what she saw, but although she could see clearly, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. "This is... this is _real_?"

The receptionist looked at Jo. "You got the white envelope," she replied solemnly. "An invitation to join the Library, which means the Library needs your expertise. Welcome to the secret world, Detective Martinez. Welcome to the Library."

Suddenly, a man in a three-piece suit and scarf emerged from an aisle of bookshelves, closely followed by... a flying carpet?

"This one, and this one," the man was mumbling to himself as he chose books from shelves and placed them on the carpet. "And this one, and this one..."

Charlene let out a sigh. "And meet the Librarian."

At the sound of her voice, the man looked over at the steps. His eyes widened when he saw Jo. He reached into an inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out an ancient-looking pan flute.

The last thing Jo heard before she blacked out was Charlene shouting, "No, Henry! She's here to help!"

* * *

So, Flynn had Excalibur as his kind of signature item. Henry would be more likely to attempt to defend and disable than to attack, I think, so I chose two other things for him: Pan's flute and the flying carpet. You'll see how he uses them as time goes on.

What do you think? Am I characterizing these two accurately?


	3. Introductions

At Charlene's shout, Henry jerked his head at the flying carpet. The carpet dumped its books on the ground and swooped over to catch the brunette woman just before she hit the floor.

"Henry Morgan!" Charlene scolded as he came up the steps. "Is that any way to greet your new Guardian?"

He gently lifted the woman from the carpet. "Guardian?" he inquired.

"Yes, Guardian." Charlene reached over and tugged something from the woman's hands, brandishing it at the Librarian. He recognized it immediately. "She got a white envelope!"

Henry raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't _need_ a Guardian. I'm fine." He looked up at the ceiling. "Do you hear that? I don't _need_ her!"

"Really, Dr. Morgan?" Henry turned, the woman still limp in his arms, to see Judson approaching. "That's, uh, that's not what you were saying a few weeks ago."

"I had a panic attack," Henry replied, fighting to keep his voice calm. "That doesn't mean I need a nursemaid, Judson."

"A Guardian is much more than a nursemaid, and you know it," Charlene snapped. "Now will you wake her up, please?"

"I can't. She'll have to wake up naturally." Henry glanced down at the woman, whose eyelids were already fluttering. He couldn't help noticing how long her lashes were. "I didn't play the flute for that long. She should be up in a few minutes."

"Well, take her to the Annex," Charlene ordered. "She'll be more comfortable there, and you can introduce yourself properly."

As Henry carried the woman down the steps and towards the Annex, he heard Charlene and Judson whispering behind him. "She'll be perfect."

"The Library, it knows what it's doing."

He ignored them, instead choosing to focus on the woman in his arms. She was incredibly light – almost too light, he reflected. She should have more meat on her bones. And he could see that her face was slightly flushed, a sign of excessive drinking, although she couldn't have had the problem long.

Henry pushed open the doors to the Annex. It was his favorite place in the Library. The lower story had bookshelves to one side and an open area to the other, with a long work table and his desk. The second story was more of a balcony. It had additional bookshelves; they contained the books he referenced most frequently.

As he carefully set the woman in a chair, he noticed a necklace that had previously been hidden under her blue button-down shirt. It was a simple gold chain with a wedding ring as a pendant. He glanced at her left ring finger.

Ah, Henry thought. That explains it.

He had no further time to think. The woman was stirring. Hurriedly, he stepped away from her, not wanting to frighten her with his proximity.

She blinked, then opened her eyes fully and looked around. "Where am I?" she asked sleepily.

"You're in the Annex, one of the rooms in the Library," Henry informed her.

"How did I get here?"

He coughed into his fist. "I, uh, carried you. I apologize for my actions earlier. In the past, newcomers in the Library have been a threat. I reacted out of instinct."

She sat up straighter. "So... magic is real."

He had to smile. "Yes, magic is real."

"Was that Pan's flute?"

"Yes, it was." Henry pulled it out of his jacket. She flinched. "I won't play it again," he assured her. "I merely wanted to show you." He held out the flute. Hesitantly, she took it, turning it over in her hands.

"You know, I had expectations for today," she said at last, giving the flute back. He tucked it away. "Discovering that magic was real wasn't one of them."

"What were your expectations?"

She grinned ruefully. "I thought someone had submitted my resume without telling me. Given the magical state of things, I guess that's not the case."

"Why would they have done that?"

Her grin vanished. She looked down at her hands. "It's been a tough year."

Oh, right, Henry thought. "I'm sorry about your husband," he said quietly.

Her head shot up. "Excuse me?"

"I noticed a slight discoloration on your left ring finger," he explained. "It could be divorce, but most divorcees don't wear their wedding band around their necks." She put a hand on her necklace. "I put his death at about a year."

"How would you know that?"

"Well, my assumption is that your drinking is a recent development." He was about to mention the redness of her cheeks and the fact that she had recently lost too much weight, but decided against it, given the already scandalized look she was giving him. "Squinting suggests a sensitivity to light, there's a slight decrease in respiratory function, and the mascara under your right eye is crooked."

"I was in a hurry this morning," she protested, reaching up to adjust it.

"And there's none under your left."

She slowly lowered her hand. Henry sighed, taking a seat across the table. "I apologize, again. I'm invading your personal life and I don't even know your name."

For a moment, he wasn't sure she was going to answer. When she did, it was matter-of-fact, as though she was trying to hide her emotions behind a mask. He should know; he did it all the time. "Detective Jo Martinez, NYPD."

That piqued his interest. "Really? I worked with the NYPD up until a few months ago. Which precinct?"

"The Eleventh."

"Not one I had many dealings with, then."

She looked at him more closely. "Were you a medical examiner?"

"Yes, I was."

"I thought so." Detective Martinez sat back in her chair. "You're kind of a legend. Dr. Henry Morgan, the medical examiner who doesn't even have to open bodies up to know how they died."

"Oh, that's not true," Henry replied. "I always opened them up. You get the full picture that way."

"I assume you're not doing many autopsies anymore?"

He chuckled. "No, not many."

She set her hands on the table. "So tell me, Dr. Morgan... what exactly _is_ a Librarian?"

* * *

The first two chapters were longer than the next few. Hope you're enjoying this combination of my current favorite fandoms! Let me know what you think!


	4. Definitions

Dr. Morgan paused. Jo watched his face; he appeared to be considering his answer.

"The Library, as I'm sure Charlene informed you, ensures that magic doesn't fall into the wrong hands." Jo nodded. "Well, the Librarian is the one who goes out into the world and retrieves that magic."

"Okay, um..." Jo shrugged. "Can you give me an example?"

His shoulders came up defensively; he seemed to be remembering something. He took a deep breath and relaxed. "Of course," he replied, getting to his feet. "Did you hear about the storm in San Francisco last week?"

"Yeah. There were, like, two hundred lightning strikes in one night... wait." She cut herself off, staring at Dr. Morgan. "That was magical?"

Dr. Morgan began to pace. "An unsuspecting traveler found Zeus's lightning bolt hidden away in an abandoned house. Suffice it to say, Zeus does not appreciate other people playing with his master bolt. He zapped the traveler, and for good measure, the entire city of San Francisco."

Jo refused to think about the fact that Zeus existed. That was a revelation for another time. "How did you stop it?"

"I talked with him."

The simple reply made Jo gape at the Librarian. "You talked with him," she repeated.

A half-smile graced Dr. Morgan's lips. "Yes. I got him talking about his many demigod children and how much good they've done in the world. Even a god can still be a proud father. While he was distracted, my carpet flew up behind him and stole the lightning bolt. By the time he realized it was gone, we were already back at the Library."

Jo had no idea what to say to that.

Dr. Morgan stopped his pacing and sat down again, this time at a chair on her side of the table. "Most of my excursions are not that eventful," he told her. "But life as the Librarian is never simple."

She cleared her throat. "I can see that," she managed to say.

He was smiling at her in a condescending sort of way. "Would you like to know what a Guardian is?"

"Charlene said it's someone trained in combat, tactics, survival..."

"That's true, but there's more to it than that." He still had a somewhat pretentious air. Jo had worked primarily among men for her entire adult life, and she was not interested in being patronized by this man who did not yet have her respect. She lifted her chin.

"From the title, Guardian, I assume the Guardian exists to protect the Librarian."

He sighed and looked away. "Yes, that is the Guardian's function."

"What do you need protecting from, Librarian?" When he didn't speak, she pressed further, determined to have her answer. "Clearly you can hold your own against Greek gods. If you can face down Zeus without batting an eye, what do you need me for?"

"I _don't_ need you!" he burst out, slamming his palms on the table. "I am just fine the way I am, Detective. But apparently, the Library believes otherwise."

Dr. Morgan spoke about the Library as though it were a person. She put that thought aside, focusing on what Dr. Morgan wasn't telling her. "You are clearly not fine," she said softly, leaning forward, her eyes intent on his face. "Tell me, why does the Library believe you need a Guardian?"

He made as though to hit the table again, then stopped himself and picked up a book instead. He flipped through it without looking at it. "I have lived a long life, Detective. I won't tell you how long – I doubt you would believe me–"

"How long?" Jo interrupted. He glared at her.

"Two hundred and thirty-five years."

Jo hesitated, and in the few seconds before she spoke, she could see the fear behind his glare. That was what made her believe him. He doesn't admit his age often, she mused. Perhaps no one outside the Library knows. "If I had to choose between the existence of Zeus and you being two centuries old, I think Zeus would be more out there," she informed him drily. "Continue, please. You've lived a long life..."

He had clearly been expecting a different reaction. Shaking his head, he went on, "Yes. I have lived for two hundred and thirty-five years, and in that span of time, I have been presented with many, many problems. In most cases, I have been able to solve them on my own."

"But..."

Dr. Morgan looked down at his hands. "But the Library is different. Some of the problems the Library presents me with are more challenging than I expected."

She could tell that this was difficult for him to talk about, but if she was to be his Guardian, she had to know the facts. "Dr. Morgan," she began, reaching out and putting her hands over his. He looked up at her, startled. "Tell me what happened. Tell me why the Library sent me an envelope."

He took a deep breath. "Many years ago, when I first became immortal, I ended up in an asylum. That is... not a pleasant memory. Recently, a mission led me to a psychiatric hospital. The similarities, they were too much. I had a panic attack and only barely completed the mission."

The pieces were starting to come together. "So the Library called me–"

"To protect me from myself," he finished bitterly. "Because apparently even two hundred and thirty-five years is not enough to make me a normal human being."

She smiled at him. "Henry, if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you will never be normal, and that's okay. Everyone needs help, Librarian. You already know that I need help. It's not shameful for you to need the same."

Henry smiled back. For the first time, Jo felt like this might actually work.

The quiet moment was interrupted when Charlene threw open the doors to the Annex. "Henry!" she gasped. "Come quick! The Library's being attacked!"

* * *

Oh no! Who could that be? I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Let me know what you think!


	5. Confrontation

Henry and Detective Martinez jumped to their feet. He reached for his flute, her for the gun at her hip.

"I would hardly call it "attacked." "Invaded" would be more accurate." The calm, deep voice came from the hallway outside the Annex.

"Use the flute!" Charlene urged.

"I have to see him," Henry replied, frustrated. "What's happened?"

"Nothing of eternal importance, I assure you." A man came around the corner and into the Annex, holding a pugio dagger to the throat of a black-haired teen. "Thank you, Ezekiel," he said to the boy, who couldn't be more than seventeen. "That is all I'll be needing from you." He rapped him sharply on the head with the dagger's hilt. He fell to the floor at the man's feet.

The doctor in Henry longed to go to the boy. The Librarian in him demanded, "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Who am I?" The man chuckled. "What an intriguing question. I have been many people, just as you have, Dr. Morgan. You can call me Adam."

"What do you want?"

"You, Henry."

Henry stared at the man. "Why do you want me?"

"We share the same pain, the same curse, the same affliction. And I want to test a theory." Adam removed a duffel bag from his shoulder and tossed it to Detective Martinez. Reflexively, she caught it. "Open it," he ordered, kneeling down and running the dagger through Ezekiel's hair.

She glanced at Henry; he shrugged helplessly. It wasn't often that Henry was at a loss, but now was one of those times. He couldn't use the flute without risking the dagger slipping and endangering the boy's life. The weapon could be poisonous or cursed. Holstering her weapon, Detective Martinez unzipped the bag and pulled out an old flintlock pistol. Being two hundred and thirty five years old, there wasn't much that was "old" to Henry, but this pistol qualified. Henry swallowed hard.

"Do you recognize it, Henry?" Adam asked. "It was discovered on a shipwreck, recently found off the coast of New York."

"New York?" Henry repeated, surprised. "How would it have gotten..."

"The details are insignificant," the man interrupted. "I asked you a question, Henry. Do you recognize it?" Henry nodded. "I, like you, am immortal," Adam continued. "I was killed for the first time over two thousand years ago, with this very dagger." He lifted up a lock of Ezekiel's hair with it. "I believe that the only thing that can kill us is the weapon that made us this way."

Henry gasped. That was a possibility he had never considered.

Detective Martinez looked from Henry to Adam to the pistol and back. He could see it in her eyes when she made the connection. "What do you want?" she asked Adam, taking a step forward. He lowered the dagger to the teenager's throat.

"Ah, ah, ah. Stay where you are," he cautioned. She stopped. "I want you to shoot the Librarian with that pistol. I want to see if he stays dead this time. _That_ is what I want."

"That's not going to happen," Detective Martinez informed him, taking a sidestep this time. "We can talk about this, Adam."

Henry saw what she was doing. She was putting herself between him and danger. She's the Guardian, he realized, amazed. Already, she's the Guardian.

And he was the Librarian. His job was to keep magic – _real_ magic – from falling into the wrong hands. This Adam, whoever he was, definitely qualified. He needed to put aside the question of his immortality for a moment and focus on the task at hand.

His carpet was resting under a chair. He glanced at it. He had trained it well enough that it knew, without Henry having to say it out loud, what Henry wanted.

"Adam," Henry began, not moving from his place by the work table. "If this is your theory, why haven't you tried it yourself? You have your dagger."

"Oh, Henry, I don't want to die. I'm just curious if I can." Adam stood up. "You can move aside," he told Detective Martinez. "The only thing that could hurt the Librarian is in your hand, not mine."

"So far, you've broken into the Library, threatened a boy's life, and asked me to shoot the Librarian to see if he "stays dead." You don't exactly inspire trust," she retorted. "I'm not moving unless you give me the dagger and step away from the boy."

Adam's focus was all on Detective Martinez now. "I don't take orders from you," he sneered. He flicked the dagger out, dangerously close to her face.

Several things happened at once.

Detective Martinez jumped back to avoid the dagger. Charlene, forgotten until that moment, produced a loaded crossbow from a shelf and shot at Adam, hitting him in the chest. The carpet zoomed over to Adam and tugged the dagger from his hand just before the man disappeared.

Henry and Charlene had both expected that to happen. Detective Martinez, on the other hand, was in shock. She staggered; Henry hurried to put a steadying arm around her waist. She closed her eyes, then opened them and looked at Henry. Their faces were closer than Henry had realized. Her lashes really _were_ long, he noticed. And her eyes turned from brown to hazel in the light.

"So I guess you disappear when you die," she said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing.

"Yes," Henry replied. "And reappear in the closest body of water."

"Naked," Charlene put in, coming around the table and grinning wickedly. "Don't forget that part."

Henry groaned. "I was hoping to save that news for another time, Charlene." Absently, he accepted the dagger from the carpet and patted it. "Thank you," he told it.

Detective Martinez laughed suddenly. "This is _really_ not the day I expected," she explained through her giggles. "I think I need to sit down."

* * *

I felt the need to make Adam a bit more menacing, on par with Dulaque. Also, Ezekiel! I was going to include Cassandra, but i can't write her. I'm not smart enough. :p Hope you're enjoying!


	6. Information

"He's dangerous, Henry!" Jo snapped. "He has to be stopped, but not at the risk of your secret. I can handle him."

"The Library can protect my secret, Detective," Henry replied, glaring at her. "I have survived for two hundred and–"

"Thirty-five years, yes, you've mentioned it." Jo ran her hands through her hair, frustrated. They had been going in circles for hours. She was the Guardian. She may have only known that for less than a day, but she had been a guardian of sorts her whole life. She knew what she needed to do. She needed to hunt down Adam and kill him with the pugio dagger to eliminate the threat to the Library and the Librarian.

Henry did not agree. "I understand that you are the Guardian, Detective," he said in a tight voice. "I understand your need to protect me. However, _it is unnecessary_. I _cannot die_."

"But you can be caught," Jo retorted. "Do you have any idea how many security cameras there are in the world? It's incredible that your secret had survived the twenty-first century. If you go after this Adam on a crowded city street, you might as well check yourself into a psychiatric hospital." He flinched, and she pressed on, determined to make her point. "You have no idea where to even begin looking. I'm a detective. Finding criminals is my job. Let me do my job, Henry."

"That's not why the Library called you," Charlene said from the doorway. She was supporting the teenage boy. "That's not your job anymore, Detective Martinez."

Jo didn't want to talk about the situation in front of Ezekiel. She gave Henry a look that said _We will finish this conversation later!_ before helping the boy to a chair. "How's your head?" she asked.

Ezekiel shrugged. "It's fine. I've had worse, and Charlene said there was nothing special about the dagger." He shifted in his seat, giving Jo a wary look. "Did she say you're a detective?"

Jo raised her eyebrows at him. She recognized that look. "Yes, but don't worry, Ezekiel – I work in homicide, not burglary. I have a feeling you'd interest some of my colleagues, though."

He jumped to his feet, but she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently back down. "I'm kidding, Ezekiel. At least, for the moment." Taking a seat next to him, she propped an elbow on the work table. "What happened today? Do you remember?"

He narrowed his eyes at Jo. "I'll tell you, only if you swear not to mention me to your colleagues."

"I promise."

He gestured to Henry, who had taken a seat on the other side of the table. "Is he a detective? He has to swear, too."

"What about me?" Charlene asked from behind him.

"You don't look like you ever leave the Library," he retorted without turning around. "I'm not worried about you."

Henry smirked at Charlene, who was sputtering indignantly. "I am not a detective, but I swear to keep your secret nonetheless."

Ezekiel hesitated, looking from Jo's face to Henry's. At last, he sighed and said, "This Adam guy, he approached me while I was on a heist in England. Said he'd heard that I was the best. And I am, no lie. Ezekiel Jones, world-class thief, at your service." He gave a theatrical bow from his seat. "Anyway, Adam offered me a million dollars if I would break into the Metropolitan Public Library for him. Showed me the money, too. I said, sure, no problem. Then he said there was a catch." He shook his head. "Should have known it would go south after that."

"What did he say was the catch?" Jo asked.

"The Metropolitan Public Library was only a front for another Library underneath. Said that in addition to the million, he would let me loot whatever I wanted from this secret Library. There would be ancient artifacts, manuscripts, things like that, which would be worth a fortune on the black market. If I got him in, he would let me take all of it."

Henry asked the question that was on Jo's mind: "How did you get in?"

"It was tricky," Ezekiel admitted. "At times it seemed impossible. But no lock defeats Ezekiel Jones, even one that I've never seen before. There's always another trick. I picked up a few items here and there, items rumored to be, um..."

"Magical?" Henry supplied.

"Yeah. I mean, it can't hurt, right? So I used those items, and when put together, they showed me and Adam a way into the Library other than the front door. There was a tiny elevator, more like a dumbwaiter, and it led us down here."

"The service elevator," Charlene muttered. "I might have known."

"We will do something about that," Henry sighed. "What happened next, Mr. Jones?"

"At first everything was fine. I was grabbing items–"

Henry opened his mouth, looking furious. Charlene forestalled his complaints by saying quickly, "I put them all back, calm down, tiger."

Ezekiel grinned at Henry, unabashed. Then he sobered. "And then Adam saw Charlene here, and he kind of went crazy. He pulled that old dagger out of his pocket and held it to my throat. You saw the rest."

"Did Adam say why he wanted to get into the Library?" Jo asked.

Ezekiel shook his head. "Not in so many words, and I didn't ask. But he did say that he was looking for someone, and he'd brought a present for them."

Jo and Henry exchanged looks. The revolver? Or something else?

"At any point when you were in the Library with Adam, did you lose sight of him?" Henry inquired.

"Only for a minute. I think I heard him putting something on a shelf."

Henry sat up straight. "Do you remember where?"

"Uh, it was near this thing that looked an awful lot like the Ark of the Covenant. In one of those first aisles of books, on the left."

Jo patted Ezekiel's hands and got to her feet. "Thanks, Jones." She looked at Charlene; Henry was already out the door and halfway down the hall. "Charlene?"

"I will stay here with Mr. Jones," Charlene replied, taking Henry's chair. "Be careful, Guardian." As Jo left the Annex, she heard Ezekiel ask,

"That's not _really_ the Ark of the Covenant, is it?"

"It is, actually." Jo could picture the look on his face when Charlene cautioned, "And no, you may _not_ steal it, thief!" Chuckling, she picked up the pace and called after Henry.

"Henry, wait up!"

* * *

I hope I'm getting these characters right. What do you think?


	7. Present

Henry ignored his Guardian's pleas to stop, to slow down, to let her go first. Instead he hastened to the shelves that the thief had mentioned. The package was small, but not hard to spot. Adam had wrapped it in brown paper and even topped it with a bow.

Before he could pick it up, a firm hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "I _cannot die_ , Detective, _why_ is that so hard to understand?" Henry scowled at Detective Martinez. "Whatever this package is, it is better for _me_ to be harmed by it than you."

"And Adam knows that," Detective Martinez retorted. "What if it's a camera? Whose face would you rather be live-streamed in Times Square – mine, or yours?"

He hated to admit it, but she had a point. "At least let me pick it up. If it doesn't hurt me, I'll hand it to you. Deal?"

"Deal." She took a step back, watching the package warily as he lifted it from the shelf.

It was incredibly light. It felt like a file folder. Feeling no pain, he gave the package to Detective Martinez. She felt around the edges before tearing off the paper. "It's a file folder," she announced. "Looks like it's all about some ship called–"

" _The Empress of Africa_ ," Henry breathed.

"Good guess," she replied, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "I assume that means something to you?"

"It's the ship where I had my first death. It went down in a shipwreck shortly afterwards."

The detective took a seat on the floor, leaned against a bookshelf, and opened the folder. "This first one looks pretty old..."

Henry sat next to her, looking over her shoulder. "The original announcement of the shipwreck," he confirmed. "I remember Nora... I remember seeing it after I returned to England."

She glanced at him, and he could see it in her eyes when she decided not to ask who Nora was. He was beginning to like his Guardian, despite his misgivings. She handed the first paper to him. He read through it quickly – he still had it memorized all these years later – while she skimmed the next one. "This is from last month," she informed him. "An investor named Isaac Monroe funded a dive to salvage the remains of the _Empress of Africa_ , which had been discovered off the coast of New York. Here's a list of their finds. The most significant item was a chest of gold coins worth seven million dollars, but they also found all kinds of old stuff." Detective Martinez smirked at him. "Old to some of us, at least."

He rolled his eyes at her, a habit he'd picked up from Abe. "Let me see that." She passed it to him. Henry ran a finger down the list. Gold coins, those would have been in the captain's quarters. Bowls, cups, silverware, all would have been found in the galley. Wrist and ankle shackles would have been in the slaves' quarters. He was about to take the page that the detective was holding out when he saw the last item on the list, which included a photo.

"A coffin, holding the remains of an African man in his late twenties," he read out loud. A coffin for an African? he thought. A slave would have been thrown overboard. That didn't make any sense.

When he didn't elaborate, Detective Martinez asked, "Henry? What are you thinking?"

He read the description underneath the picture: "Isaac Monroe with up-and-coming NYPD medical examiner Lucas Wahl, who conducted an autopsy of the remains."

Henry grinned at his Guardian. "I'm thinking we should take a field trip."

She raised an eyebrow at him, amused. "Henry, it's almost nine o'clock at night. Wherever you're wanting to go, they're probably closed."

He sighed, slumping back against the shelf. He didn't want to delay his investigation by an entire night!

"There's still plenty we can do from here, though," Detective Martinez pointed out. "I want to learn more about your condition."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "If we're going to take down this Adam, I need to understand you and how you work." She stood up and stretched. "First, I want some food. I haven't eaten all day, and neither have you."

Earlier, Henry had seen that Detective Martinez was intelligent, selfless, and brave. She had seen past his smokescreen and gotten him to open up – something almost no one was able to do, save Abraham. She had intentionally put herself in harm's way to protect him, even though she hardly knew him. Now, he saw that she was practical, focused, and persistent.

"A little food wouldn't hurt," he admitted. She offered him a hand; he took it, and she pulled him to his feet. "Did you have somewhere in mind?"

"This is the Library," she reminded him. "I haven't explored very much, but I'm going to wager a guess that you have an incredible kitchen around here somewhere. I'll cook, you talk."

"I can work with that." He smiled at her, and she smiled back. For the first time, Henry thought that this could actually work. "The kitchen is this way."

They talked for hours over Detective Martinez's excellent stir fry. He was impressed by her cooking, her questions, and the way she listened – _really_ listened – to his answers. At around 2 AM, she started to nod off at the kitchen table.

"Detective?" he asked tentatively. When she didn't respond, he said, "Jo?"

She jerked awake. "Oh – sorry, Henry. I'm tired, I guess."

"You have every right to be," he told her. "I have a feeling that the Library has set up a room for you, if you'd like to sleep here."

"What do you mean, it sets up a room?"

"I have an apartment in the city, but when I'm here late at night, the Library sets up a room for me. It does the same for Judson and Charlene. You are a part of the Library now; it stands to reason that it would do the same for you."

"That doesn't answer my question," Jo grumbled, but she followed him out of the kitchen nonetheless. Henry led her to the Annex; sure enough, there were now two doors on the balcony that had not been there before.

"The Library sets up a room for you," she observed sleepily as she opened the door to her room. "I'm sure I'll be more bothered by this in the morning."

Henry grinned at her. "Good night, Detective."

"Good night, Henry."

* * *

I'm enjoying writing these two. It's a different dynamic than on the show, because the show was so much about Henry protecting his secret from Jo. Here, she learns it almost immediately, and she has to decide what to do with that information. Henry also has to decide what to do with someone knowing his secret - so few people know it! Also, I'm excited for more Lucas next chapter. I hope you are too!


	8. Morning

Jo woke gradually, but she didn't want to open her eyes yet. She felt comfortable. She hadn't felt comfortable in bed for a year, ever since... ever since she started sleeping alone. Something felt different about this morning. What was it?

Ah... she didn't have a hangover. That would explain it. She must have passed out before she drank too much last night. She hugged Sean's pillow to her, but something was different about that, too. It didn't have his smell, a combination of citrus and printer ink.

She opened her eyes. She wasn't at home; the pillow she was clutching wasn't Sean's. She was lying on an incredibly soft queen-sized poster bed. A bedside table held a lamp and a copy of "A Brewing Storm" – the first book in her favorite series. The wall above the bed had a canvas painting of the New York City skyline. Her clothes from the day before were folded on the dresser; she had discovered pajamas in one of the drawers.

Memories of the day before came flooding back. The envelope. The Library. The Librarian. Adam.

Jo sat up just as someone knocked on the door. Yawning, she got to her feet and padded over to open it. It was Henry, of course.

"Good morning, Detective," he greeted her, entirely too cheerful for this time of day.

"Morning, Henry."

"I'm sorry; did I wake you?" She was amused to see that he was trying not to look at her bare toes.

"I'd just woken up."

"There's coffee in the kitchen, and if you hurry, you might even get some before Charlene finishes it all."

"I'll get dressed quickly then." She closed the door and leaned against it, staring into space as she thought. Today her plans included tracking down an immortal criminal who was threatening the life of an immortal Librarian from a secret Library that had sent her an envelope and invited her to become the Guardian of said Librarian. Also, magic was real.

"I wonder if this is what Lieutenant Reece meant when she told me to do something this week," Jo wondered out loud as she went to the closet. She was somewhat disconcerted to find that the clothes inside fit her perfectly, both physically and in style. With a shrug, she put on a pair of jeans and a maroon button-down shirt. When she had adjusted her wedding band necklace under her shirt and holstered her weapon at her hip, she headed down the stairs.

"I'll be heading out, then," she heard Ezekiel say as she approached the kitchen.

"No, you most certainly will not!" Henry replied. "You're still the only person who knows anything about Adam."

"I don't know anything about him!" Ezekiel protested. Jo entered the kitchen to find Ezekiel leaning against a countertop, drinking coffee. "All I know is that he wanted me to break into the Library and he offered me a million dollars to do it. That's it. End of story."

"There's a lot more to the story, actually," Jo said, taking a seat at the table. Henry passed her a steaming coffee mug. He appeared to be drinking tea. "Where did you meet Adam? How did he find you, and know who you were? How did you communicate with him?"

Ezekiel made a face. "I don't know how he found me," he admitted. "I can't be tracked online, I always wipe security cameras after a heist, and I've never been caught. I move around all the time, never staying in one place for more than a week. So how he found me is a complete mystery."

Jo took a sip of coffee and set down the mug. "All right. Barring that, _where_ did he find you?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "England, remember?"

"Yes, but _where_ in England?" Henry asked.

"I'm not telling you that." He folded his arms and jutted his chin in Jo's direction. "She's a cop, remember?"

"I'm with the NYPD," she reminded him. "I have no jurisdiction in England." When he still didn't speak, Jo added, "And I promised not to mention you to my colleagues anyway."

He held out for a minute longer, then gave in. "Fine. I was in Buckingham Palace–"

"Buckingham Palace?!" Jo, Henry, and Charlene chorused.

He grinned mischievously. "Yes. Anyway, Adam was waiting outside when I rappelled down the side of the building. I would've just ran from him, but he had the million with him and showed it to me before he said a word. Money always convinces me to listen. That's when he told me about the job."

"How did he communicate with you?" Henry asked.

"Snail mail, e-mail, social media, phone?" Jo added.

"Texting, mostly. Always from different numbers. I could tell it was him because he would sign the texts with an A." Ezekiel pulled out his phone and scrolled through his texts. "See, here," he said, handing the phone to Jo. "That's all he would ever do – give me instructions and sign with an A."

Jo read the texts, with Henry looking over her shoulder. The texts were short and to the point, with perfect grammar. "All right. With the different numbers, we probably won't be able to trace any of the phones, but I'll run them through anyway." She glanced around; Henry caught her intentions and said,

"I will remember the numbers, Detective. No need to write them down." When she looked at him, bemused, he elaborated, "I have a photographic memory."

"Of course you do," she muttered, handing the phone back to Ezekiel. "Thanks," she told him. "Henry, can you think of anything else?"

"No, I believe that covers it." He got to his feet. "Mr. Jones–"

"I'm the best, I know, no need to thank me," Ezekiel cut in smugly. Henry frowned at him.

"Actually, I was going to say that I want you to empty your pockets before you leave the building."

The thief's face fell. He looked around as though for a friendlier face, but Jo and Charlene regarded him steadily. He sighed. "Fine," he said at last, pulling a few small items from the pockets of his jeans and placing them on the table. "Happy now?"

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Jones. You may go."

Jo stood and followed Ezekiel out. As they made their way to the elevator, he asked, "How long have you been working here?"

She smiled. "Since yesterday."

"Are you as confused as I am?"

Jo thought about the Librarian and all of the details she had that Ezekiel didn't. "More, most likely."

"Just checking." They reached the elevator, and Ezekiel stepped inside. "It was nice to meet you, Detective Martinez," he said, holding out a hand. She took it, and grabbed her wallet from his back pocket with her free hand. He grinned at her, completely unabashed, as the doors closed.

Shaking her head, Jo turned and almost ran into Henry. He had the file folder under one arm. "Ready for our field trip?" he asked.

"Where are we going?"

"The OCME," he replied. "My former assistant performed the autopsy on the skeleton retrieved from _The Empress of Africa_. I believe his findings could help us learn more about the shipwreck."

"The shipwreck?" Jo stopped to look up at him. "Shouldn't we be looking for Adam?"

"Adam left us the folder," he reminded her. "It's a trail for us to follow."

"Exactly." Jo motioned to the folder. "Adam wants us to follow this trail. That's a great reason for us _not_ to follow it. He could be leading us right into a trap."

"Do you have a better idea?" he demanded.

"My precinct is not far from the OCME. On the way there, I'll drop by and convince someone to run those phone numbers for me. That's a lead he might not be expecting us to have."

"If we must." Henry clearly didn't expect her lead to pan out. She lifted her chin, not giving an inch.

"I'll drive."

It was a quick stop at the Eleventh. Hanson was startled to see her, but agreed to run the phone numbers without question. "It's a slow week," he said, typing the numbers in. "I'll give you a call if I find something."

"Thanks, Mike."

He shuffled some papers on his desk. "Uh, Jo... You know if you need to, uh..."

She knew what he was trying to say; he had been trying to say it for a year. For some reason, today, it didn't bother her as much. "I know, Mike. Thanks." She saw Lieutenant Reece emerge from the elevator and ducked into the stairwell to avoid being seen.

"Did your associate agree to run the numbers?"

Jo nodded as she got back into the car. "He did. Now let's go meet with _your_ associate."

They arrived to the OCME at around 8:30. The morgue was empty. Henry looked around with surprise. "Lucas was almost never late," he said, checking his old office. No one was there. "In fact, he was almost always early." He opened the door to the freezer room and stopped. Jo looked through the door and sighed inwardly.

Adam stood there, holding a terrified-looking young man at gunpoint. When the young man saw Henry and Jo, his eyes widened. "Dr. Morgan!" he squeaked. "Long time, no see!"

* * *

More Ezekiel than Lucas in this chapter, but rest assured, there will be more Lucas next chapter. I just love writing his delightfully socially awkward character.

Thanks for reviewing, parkin24! To quote Cassandra from the Librarians, "I'm here to do science and math and occasionally hallucinate." Science and math are my two weakest points, so I'll have to practice a lot more if I want to include her. :P


	9. Power

Henry quickly took in the scene. Adam had an arm around Lucas's shoulders and a gun trained on his ribs. It was not the flintlock, he was relieved to note – but that didn't make the situation any less worrying.

"Come on in," Adam said, nodding to them. "I was hoping you would show up, and here you are."

Henry looked at Jo, who shrugged helplessly. They entered the freezer room and closed the door. "Lucas, are you all right?" Henry asked. Lucas opened his mouth to reply, but Adam jammed the gun deeper into his side. The assistant medical examiner's eyes widened with fear.

"Surely I'm the interesting one here. Lucas doesn't have anything to say, does he?" Lucas shook his head. "Good lad," Adam said, returning his attention to Henry and Jo. "Do you have the pistol?"

"What do you think?" Jo asked before Henry could speak.

Adam sighed. "Tch, tch. I think you knew this was a trap, Detective Martinez, and you should have known to bring the pistol."

He knew Jo's name and rank. Henry glanced at Jo, who looked bewildered. "Give me _some_ credit," Adam said, correctly interpreting the nonverbal communication. "After meeting her yesterday, I did my research. Even a man of my _age_ can learn to use the Internet."

"Is that how you found Mr. Jones? The Internet?"

"Focus, Detective Martinez." Adam began to pace, forcing Lucas to walk with him. "I assume you don't want this young man to die. If that's the case, then I would appreciate it if you would test my theory for me, and I will release him."

"I'm not going to test your theory," Jo spat. "So you might as well–"

"Detective," Henry cut in. She glared at him, and he raised his eyebrows at her, trying to say _I have an idea. Trust me._ "It would seem Adam has the best of us this time. Perhaps I can go to the Library and retrieve the flintlock while you remain here."

What he meant was, _I can go to the Library and retrieve some artifacts that will help us get out of this mess – including the pugio._ He dearly hoped that Jo would catch his drift and allow him to leave.

"Henry, I–"

"I would rather you stay here, Henry," Adam said, cutting across Jo's words. "Detective Martinez, be sure to retrieve the pistol and return here without delay. Otherwise, I will expose your Librarian, and you will lose another man you care about."

Jo flinched. Henry took a step forward, reaching for the pipes inside his suit coat. He felt hot anger bubble up in his veins. "If you make one more insinuation–"

"You'll what, Dr. Morgan?" Adam asked. "Must I remind you, I hold the power here?" He jabbed Lucas in the side once again. "Now _go_ , Detective, before I change my mind and shoot the three of you."

"You're not the only one with a gun," Jo replied, but Henry could hear the grief behind her words. Glowering at Adam, she pushed open the door and left.

Henry watched her go. He knew she was smart enough to go to Charlene and Judson before returning to the OCME. Regardless, he still wished that he had been the one to leave. He knew exactly what he wanted from the Library, and he had no desire to spend the morning locked in the morgue with Adam and Lucas.

Turning to Adam, he said, "You can let Lucas go. I assure you, I will wait here with you until Detective Martinez returns."

"No, I'll keep him. He's good insurance."

"At least take your gun off him," Henry insisted, taking a step forward. "You could shoot him on accident."

"Not likely, but I'll appease you for the moment." Adam holstered his weapon and shoved Lucas to the ground. "Sit, and don't move," he instructed him.

"I won't," Lucas said, rubbing his ribs.

"Are you all right?" Henry asked.

"I was beginning to worry I'd become a dead body, and you wouldn't be here to do my autopsy. At least one of those is wrong."

"You're not going to die, Lucas," Henry told him. "Stop being so dramatic."

" _Dramatic?_ " Lucas exclaimed. He started to get up, but hurriedly sat again when he saw Adam's hand twitch on the gun. "You want to hear _dramatic?_ This – this – _guy_ comes in here and hides in a body bag. I open it this morning and he jumps out at me, ready to shoot, asking me where _you_ are. I tell him I have no idea, because even though we worked together for three years, you didn't feel the need to tell me where you were going when you just up and vanished–"

"I left you a note," Henry protested.

Lucas waved a hand. "It was a Hallmark card, it doesn't count. Anyway, so he says, "Oh, that's okay, I'll wait," and then he makes me sit in here for two hours before you guys finally show up. Who was the hot detective, by the way?"

Henry blinked, startled by the change of topics. "She's, uh, she's with the Eleventh."

"Did you defect and become a police officer? Come on, spill."

"No, I work for the Metropolitan Public Library now."

Lucas cocked his head at Henry. "The Metropolitan Public... You're a librarian?"

"Yes. It's a long story, one for another time. Are you certain you're not hurt?" Henry looked over at Adam, who was watching their exchange with no small amount of amusement. "If you are, I'll make sure you're not the only one."

"Touchy, are we?" Adam asked.

"I get that way when people threaten my friends." Henry was about to elaborate, but Lucas interrupted.

"Friends? We're friends?"

He gave his former assistant a stern look. "We're better than acquaintances, anyway."

Lucas beamed. "We're friends! That's so exciting!"

"As adorable as this is, I didn't bring you two here for a reunion." Adam pulled an envelope out of his pocket and tossed it over to Henry. "Since we have some time, why don't you two look at the pictures in there and tell me what you think happened?"

Cautiously, remembering Jo's earlier warning, Henry opened the envelope. It contained x-rays and autopsy notes. "The remains of a Jane Doe," he read out loud as he slid down the wall to sit beside Lucas. "The victim of a car crash in 1985."

"Clear signs of the crash," Lucas said, taking the x-rays from Henry and flipping through them. "Broken nose, fractured wrist, broken ribs."

"Her throat was slit, likely in the crash as well," Henry mused as he read through the report.

"No," Lucas said, startling Henry. He had rarely contradicted anything Henry had said when they had worked together.

"No?"

"Look, the angle's wrong," Lucas said, pointing to an x-ray. "I think this was self-inflicted."

"Why, you're right, Lucas." Henry patted him on the shoulder. "Good catch. She didn't die in the crash, after all. Perhaps the broken ribs were from a good Samaritan, trying to revive her."

"Could be," Lucas agreed.

"Very good," Adam said, applauding. "You two make a good team."

"Like Starsky and Hutch," Lucas suggested. "Or Watson and Sherlock."

Ignoring Lucas, Adam went on, "You discovered the details that the presiding medical examiner missed. What a shame, that you were not there to work on her, Henry."

Henry replaced the documents in the envelope. "Why did you want us to look at these?"

"I wanted to see the look on your face when I told you who the Jane Doe was."

His heart started to pound. "Who was the Jane Doe, Adam?"

Adam smiled. "Abigail."

He didn't remember getting to his feet, didn't know how he ended up slamming Adam against the wall, didn't recall anything before Jo burst into the room and pulled him away, keeping her gun on Adam as she thrust him behind her with one hand. He fell to the ground, face in his hands, sobbing, "Abigail... Abigail, no..."

* * *

And in this chapter, we learn just how big of a jerk Adam really is. He lies in wait for poor, innocent Lucas, makes a nasty comment about Jo losing her husband, and "helps" Henry find out what happened to his wife. What will happen next?

Thanks for reviewing, parkin24 and KenH! Hope you enjoyed more Lucas, parkin24, and KenH, I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Don't worry, I'm leading towards some Jenry. ;)


	10. News

Jo kept her weapon trained on Adam as she glanced behind her. Henry was on the ground, head in his hands, sobbing. "What did you do?" she demanded, turning back to look at Adam – but he wasn't there. Before Jo could react, strong hands had ripped the small bag from her shoulder, and Adam was sprinting out of the morgue.

"Damn it!" she swore, caught between her instinct to chase after him and her need to take care of her Librarian. Kneeling, she gently pulled Henry's hands away from his face. When he resisted, she put a hand on his cheek, making him look up at her. "Henry?"

"He's getting away," Henry said, averting his eyes.

"We'll catch him." Jo rubbed her thumb on his cheek. "Henry, what happened?"

"Someone named Abigail died," volunteered Lucas from across the room.

Jo's eyes widened. Henry had told her about Abigail the night before, how she had left him because she couldn't bear the fact that she was aging and he was not. He'd said that he never found out what happened to her. Apparently that had changed.

"He killed her," Henry managed to say. "It was him, I swear it."

"But the wound was self-inflicted," Lucas put in.

Henry jerked away from Jo's touch to glare at Lucas. "Abigail would _never_ have taken her own life!"

"You taught me to always look for the facts." Lucas was rubbing his arms nervously, but he sounded like he was forcing himself to stay calm. "Those are the facts, Henry."

"Adam changes the facts." Henry's breathing was faster than usual. "He did something to her, he had to, otherwise she never would have – never would have–"

Jo grabbed one of Henry's hands and felt for his pulse. It was racing, and she could see the bright sheen of sweat on his forehead and neck. "Take a deep breath, Henry."

He turned his glare on her. "I'm _fine_ , Detective!"

"No, you aren't," she said, meeting his gaze steadily. "Deep breath, Librarian." He opened his mouth to protest, then seemed to deflate all at once. He took a deep breath. "Good." Jo squeezed his hands. "Another."

After a few minutes, Henry's heart rate had gone down, and he was breathing normally. Jo stood, pulling him to his feet. "Adam got my bag, which unfortunately had the flintlock in it," she informed Henry.

"What about the pugio?" he asked, adjusting his scarf.

Jo grinned. "In my jacket."

"That's good, then." They both turned to Lucas, who was staring at them.

"Anyone care to enlighten me as to what just happened?"

"Adam wants to harm me, and used you to get to me."

Lucas shook his head. "Yeah, I got that part. I meant about you guys. Are you dating or what? Because you'd automatically be my favorite couple."

"Lucas!" Henry cried, exasperated.

"It's okay, Henry," Jo said, putting a hand on his arm. "I'm sure it looked that way to you, but no, Lucas, we are not dating."

Lucas stood, looking from Jo to Henry and back. "If you say so. But when you guys decide to go public with it or whatever, we could double. I'm obviously looking for eights and above–"

"Lucas," Henry warned.

"Fine. But now you know how I feel. I won't speak of it again."

" _Thank_ you," Jo said with feeling. "Now, Lucas, I think you should be safe. I don't see why Adam would want to use you to get to Henry again."

"That's a relief. One live guy in a body bag is enough for me. I'm used to the dead ones," he explained. "But him jumping out with a gun was a bit much." He was in the middle of brushing himself off when he stopped to raise an eyebrow at Henry. "What were you doing here, anyway?"

"Oh, right! I completely forgot what I came to ask you about." Henry reached inside his suit coat and produced the article from a pocket. "You worked on a project with Isaac Monroe–"

"Oh yeah! You saw my picture in the article and wanted to get it signed, right?"

Henry smiled. "I saw your picture in the article, but no, an autograph wasn't what I had in mind. I was wondering what you discovered in your autopsy."

Lucas looked slightly disappointed, but he launched into his explanation nonetheless. "It was so epic. You would have loved it. All this old stuff, and Monroe picked _me_ to consult for him. Cool, right? Anyway, the man in the coffin was shot point-blank with a flintlock pistol. Pretty sad, as you could tell he'd had a hard life – the marks of shackles and whips were obvious, even after all this time."

Henry's shoulders slumped. "Did you find anything else?"

"No, but did you hear the story about how the ship got to New York?"

He perked up. "No, what's the story?"

"It's really awesome, actually. There was this doctor who was killed by the captain of the ship. As the sailors were dragging him up from below to throw him overboard, a key dropped from his hand. One of the slaves was able to grab the key and unlock the slave quarters. The slaves took over the ship and managed to get to New York before the ship sank."

"How does Mr. Monroe know this?" Henry asked, his voice strained. Jo glanced at him. She knew that Henry was the doctor who had been killed, but he hadn't said anything about the fate of the slaves.

"He's a descendant of one of them. The story's been passed down through generations."

Henry let out a long breath. "Thank you, Lucas. That is... that is a good story."

They said their good-byes to Lucas and left the morgue. Jo waited until they were in her car again to turn to Henry. "You didn't know that, did you? You thought you got the slaves killed."

"Yes, that's correct."

"They lived."

He grinned at her. "Yes, Detective... they lived. I don't believe I have ever heard better news." Suddenly his face sobered. "I wish I'd heard as good of news about Abigail."

Jo took out the pugio and held it up. "Are you ready to get this bastard?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

* * *

Two for one today! I had been really struggling with this story, and then I suddenly became inspired and wrote the rest of the chapters. Three more to go after this. I'll post one or two a day!

Also, I hope that's enough awkward Lucas for you, because that was fun. :P


	11. Theory

Jo called her partner as she drove. Henry ground his teeth; he'd seen enough victims of cell phone-related accidents. He wasn't interested in his Guardian becoming one of Lucas's clients.

"Really? Where... okay, thanks, Hanson." Jo hit "end call" and tossed the phone onto Henry's lap. "Hanson said all of the four cell phones have been turned on in the last day, and all in the same area."

"Where is it?" Henry asked.

"Around the intersection of Second and Stanton." Henry slammed his fists on the dashboard, making Jo jump. "What? What is it?"

"That's my apartment."

"Where your son lives?" Jo sped up. He shook his head when she reached for the siren.

"It'll only alert him that we're on our way. Not that he doesn't know already," he said. "This must have been his plan all along."

"No, Henry." Although she was driving quickly, swerving around slower vehicles, her voice was calm. Henry supposed that she was used to stressful situations, being a detective. "His plan was to get us upset, don't you see? Recruiting Ezekiel was just to get into the Library and locate you. But going after Lucas, taking a jab at me, showing off what he did to Abigail – those didn't serve any purpose for him except to make us mad."

The reference to his wife made Henry wince. "What's your point, Detective?"

"My point is, we need to have a plan before we go in there. If we don't, he'll just keep angering us until we make a mistake."

"We've already made mistakes."

"I know that." Jo's calm faltered; she swallowed and said, "I never should have let him be alone with you. I never should have brought the flintlock with me to the morgue."

"And the Library should have been better protected. I should have figured out what he was doing a long time ago. I've lived long enough – I should be better at keeping my cool."

"So we've both made mistakes." Jo stopped at a red light and turned to grin at him. "Now let's make a plan."

The light turned green; she drove on as Henry thought. How could they trick Adam into either giving up the flintlock or becoming vulnerable to an attack by the pugio?

"What was in the bag that Adam took?" he asked.

"The pistol, obviously. Your carpet. And Charlene put Athena's shield in there."

Henry smiled. "Oh, that will do quite nicely, Detective."

"It will? Because Adam has all three of those items, so I'm not sure how they're going to help us."

"My carpet is very well trained, and I have my pipes. Here's what we'll do, Detective..."

Their plan was hatched by the time Jo pulled up to the antique shop. She parked next to it and waited until Henry got out of the car. "Are you sure this will work?" she asked, poking her head out of the driver's side window.

"Of course!"

"That doesn't make me feel better." She drove away as Henry straightened his scarf and adjusted his suit coat, making sure that the knife in his pocket was showing through the fabric. Then he entered the antique shop at a leisurely walk.

"Hello, Abraham," he said, stopping by the desk to greet his son.

"Hey, Dad," Abe replied, not looking up from his work. "Just updating the account books. I sold five items today – premium prices, too!"

"That's good, Abe." Henry bent down to kiss his sixty-five-year-old son's head. "Don't come downstairs for a bit. I have some work to do."

"More stuff you can't tell me about?"

"Maybe someday."

"You say that every day." Abe ran his fingers through his thinning white hair. "Let me know when someday comes, Henry."

"I will." With that, Henry pulled up the trapdoor to his laboratory and descended into the basement. As he'd expected, the lights were on, and Adam was sitting behind his desk. Jo's bag was over his shoulder.

"You decided to join me?"

"Yes, I told Abe that I had some work to do." Henry pulled out his pipes, noticing Adam's interest in the knife in his other pocket.

"The pipes, eh? Not the pugio?"

"I'm not a killer," he told the other man quietly.

Adam pulled the flintlock from the bag. "Well, that's too bad, because I am. Where's your detective?"

"She's not _my_ detective."

"Have you seen the way she looks at you? She's yours, all right. It's really a shame that she won't get to know you any better. Maybe I'll meet up with her, once you're gone. Help her to appreciate a _real_ man."

Jo had warned him not to rise to Adam's bait. It was harder than he had anticipated. He clenched his fists, but said nothing, instead putting the pipes to his lips. Adam raised the flintlock. "I wouldn't, unless you want to test my theory," he warned.

Henry shrugged lightly. "I'm a scientist," he said, seeing movement behind Adam and fighting not to acknowledge it. "I like testing theories."

"So be it!" Adam pulled the trigger. Jo emerged from the hidden entrance and slashed his throat with the pugio. Henry's carpet scurried out of the bag, dragging the shield – but it was too late. He had miscalculated, perhaps for the final time.

Henry looked down. He had been shot in the chest, an almost perfect hit on his old scar. He fell backwards as though in slow motion. From a distance, he could hear Jo's voice. "Henry! Henry, hold on, Librarian, hold on..."

* * *

Oh no, that can't be good. Two chapters left!

Thanks for reading, everyone! Parkin24, here's the confrontation you predicted. Adam is definitely a jerk to the highest degree. And good catch with the ancestor/descendant mixup. I fixed it!


	12. Changes

It had all gone so perfectly – until it hadn't.

Adam hadn't sensed her at all; Henry had succeeded in getting Adam's full attention. She'd crept through the secret entrance, coming out right behind Adam just in time to slice his throat with the pugio. His blood was on her hands as she held them down on Henry's chest.

"Hold on, Henry!" she begged. "I'll call an ambulance, just hold on..."

An older man came running down the stairs. That had to be Henry's son. "What happened?" he asked, eyes flickering from Henry's chest wound to Adam's limp form to the tears running down Jo's face.

"He got shot. I'm so sorry, this is my fault–" Abe swallowed hard, and she could tell he was preparing to tell her Henry's secret. "I know he's immortal," she burst out. "But he got shot with the flintlock that killed him the first time and it might be able to kill him again–"

Without warning, Jo's hands were putting pressure on air. She held them up in wonder. Even the blood on her hands was gone. She whirled around; Adam had vanished at the same time that Henry did.

"The river," Abe told her. "We have to get to the river. You can explain on the way."

He gave her directions; Jo refused to let him come and be in danger from Adam. He also gave her a duffel bag of clothes and a towel. "This is going to be the most awkward rescue ever," she mused aloud as she drove. She was trying not to think about what she would do if Henry wasn't there. "I'm pretty sure that Lieutenant Reece did _not_ mean for me to pull a naked man from a river this week, but you never can tell in New York City."

She parked next to the river and got out of the car, looking around for any sign of Henry or Adam. After a few minutes, she heard a familiar voice call, "Over here, Detective!" Jo jogged in the direction of the voice. It led her to the side of a shed. Henry was standing behind a trash can. "Hello, Detective," he said with a playful grin. "Nice to see you again."

She held out the duffel bag. "Good to see you too, Henry."

He dressed behind the shed as she kept an eye out for Adam – or anyone else, for that matter. When he was done, she couldn't help herself. She reached out to touch his arm, just to make sure that he was real. "You're alive," she said quietly.

"Yes."

The tears came without Jo's permission. She couldn't get the picture of Sean's dead body in the morgue out of her head, and although she didn't even _know_ Henry very well, she knew that his dead body would be just as horrible.

Henry hesitated, then pulled her into his arms. She rested her head on his chest and cried. She hadn't cried for months, hadn't wanted anyone else to see her weakness, but in Henry's embrace, it didn't feel like a weakness anymore. "It's all right," he said, stroking her hair gently. "It's all right, Jo, I'm here."

Eventually, she drew back, wiping her eyes. "Sorry," she said, looking down. "I didn't mean–"

"You don't have to be sorry." Henry put a hand on her chin, making her look at him. His eyes were full of compassion. "I understand, Jo. It's always... disconcerting to see me die, especially when you have recently lost people you love."

She closed her eyes. "Thanks, Henry."

He released her chin. "I saw Adam get out of the water. It looked like he had a stash of clothes – he was dressed and heading towards the bridge. Shall we go after him?"

"We have no way of tracking him," she thought out loud. Opening her eyes, she turned to look at the water. "He was very careful about that. I doubt any camera in this city has seen his face."

"What are you saying? That we shouldn't even try?" Henry asked. He was still very close behind her. Jo smiled back at him.

"I'm saying that we'll have to be smarter than him if we're going to catch him."

He kissed her cheek. "I agree completely."

The following Monday, Jo entered the precinct and went straight for Lieutenant Reece's office. "Hey, Lieu, you got a minute?"

Lieutenant Reece looked up and motioned her inside. "Yes, of course. How was your week, Detective?"

Jo took a seat. "It was... enlightening." Jo could only imagine what her superior would say if she told her the whole truth. She'd probably get locked up in a psychiatric hospital herself. "I've been offered a job."

Lieutenant Reece cocked her head. "A job? Where?"

"The Metropolitan Public Library."

"Tell me more."

Jo shrugged. "It's kind of a security job. I met the people I'd be working with, and, well, I think it would be good for me." The thought of Henry made her feel warm inside, in a way that she hadn't felt since Sean died. Yes, she thought, this will be good for me.

"When I told you to go and do something, I didn't mean I wanted to be rid of you," Lieutenant Reece said. "You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know." Jo smiled. "I didn't mean to look for another job, either. It kind of fell in my lap. But I think I'm going to take it."

Lieutenant Reece sat back in her chair. "Is there nothing I can do to make you stay? You're one of my best detectives, Jo."

Jo ducked her head. "Thank you, Lieu, but no. I need this. A change of scenery... it'll do me good."

The lieutenant got to her feet; Jo did the same. "Well, Jo, I'm sorry to see you go. I really am. But if this is what's best for you, that's what matters, in the end." She held out her hand, and Jo shook it.

"Thanks, Lieu. If you need anything, I could still consult. I'll be in the city most of the time, I think."

"I'll give you a call." Jo nodded and turned to leave. Lieutenant Reece called after her, "Detective? I'm glad you did something, even if it does mean you're leaving."

She looked back. "I would have stayed at the stage I was in for years if you hadn't brought me out of it, Lieu. Thank you."

* * *

And he's alive! Which you all knew was coming, of course, but I hope I kept you in suspense at least for a little bit. And Jo has decided to stay with the Library. Last chapter coming up.

Thanks for reviewing, parkin24! I appreciate the compliment. :)


	13. Memories

Henry flipped through a book, eyes skimming over the pages. He wasn't really reading, just thinking. Abraham was fond of telling him that although he couldn't die, he hadn't _lived_ in a very long time. He had thought the Library would change that, and it did, in a way – just not in the way that he was expecting.

The memory of his first death would always stick out in his mind, no matter how long he lived. He would always be able to vividly recall the bullet hitting his chest, the twin senses of failure and defeat, the water entering his lungs. He would always remember the day the Library called him out of his personal darkness. He would never forget the otherworldly feel of the interview room, Charlene's harsh questions, Judson's assurances, his first view of the Library proper.

There were other days that stuck out to him, as well. The day he met Abigail and Abraham. Several unpleasant days in the psychiatric hospital. His wedding days – both of them. The day Abe returned from Vietnam. The day Abigail left him.

That day a month ago when Jo Martinez walked into the Library had already become one of his most treasured memories. It was slightly embarrassing, to be sure. He had knocked her out with his pipes before even learning her name. But somehow, she had gotten past that and accepted him like no one else had, not even Abigail.

He put the book down. Jo, using him as a backrest as she read her own book, looked up at him. "Find anything?"

He smiled down at her. "No, not yet."

"Don't worry," she assured him, squeezing his hand. "We'll get him, Librarian."

He leaned in to give her a quick kiss. "I know we will, Guardian."

"In the meantime, do you want to get something to eat?"

He groaned, recognizing the look of eagerness on her face. "No, we are _not_ going to that ridiculous street vendor, Jo. Do you know what's _in_ gyros?"

"No, and I don't care," she retorted. "They're delicious."

"Henry!" He winced at the sound of Charlene's yell. "Where are you? I need your receipts!"

"Now I see why you insisted on reading in this obscure corner," Jo murmured. "You were hiding from the scary receptionist." She grinned cheekily at him. "I'll protect you, Librarian. What are Guardians for?"

He grinned back. He knew that, at long last, _this_ was actually going to work.

* * *

And we leave them in happiness. Not all of the loose ends have been closed, which means I can write more if I feel like it, but I think I'm done with this particular crossover for the moment. What did you think? Did I combine the fandoms well? This being my first crossover, I'd really like your opinions! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
